


Trust me again

by TheKingOfHellLovesYou



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Amputation, Angry John, Angry John Watson, Angry Sherlock Holmes, Forgive Me, Forgiveness, Help, Hospitals, Hurt John, Hurt John Watson, Hurt Sherlock, M/M, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, Protective Mycroft, Sad John, Sad John Watson, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Suicidal Sherlock, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-03-24 12:14:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13810986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKingOfHellLovesYou/pseuds/TheKingOfHellLovesYou
Summary: Ok so this is set somewhere in the ep 2 of seson 4 (The Lying Detective). Mary is already dead and John just beat up Sherlock.“I really hit him Grag. Hit him hard,” said John and looked down at his hands. His knuckles were bruised from when he punched Sherlock in the face and his foot was hurting from when he kicked him. When did it come to this? When did John start to hate Sherlock so much? When did he become a person that would hurt someone who is already on the ground, helpless and nothing but a shadow of his former self?





	1. The Doctor who helps

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hunter13Hawkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hunter13Hawkie/gifts).



> Please mind that my english is not very good, but I'm working on it so please bear with me :) Thank you! Please leave a comment and a like :P

“I really hit him Grag. Hit him hard,” said John and looked down at his hands. His knuckles were bruised from when he punched Sherlock in the face and his foot was still hurting from when he kicked him. When did it come to this? When did John start to hate Sherlock so much? When did he become a person that would hurt someone who is already on the ground, helpless and nothing but a shadow of his former self?

  
“It’s ok John. Sherlock lost it. You just protected yourself and the others,” said Grag and patted John on the shoulder. But John knows … he knows that if they would not have pulled him away from Sherlock when they did he would have gone on, and on and on…until Sherlock would have been dead. John stood up and left the police station. He wandered around the city for a bit, thinking over what he did. What he could have done.

He walked by a jewelry store and couldn’t help but to feel nostalgic. This was the shop where he bought Marys’ engagement ring. He remembered because he was deciding on it for weeks before he finally bough it. Subconsciously he slid his fingers over the place where his wedding ring was and he had to chock down a quiet whine.

“Damn it, Mary!” he said quietly to himself and started walking home. His apartment was empty, Rosie was with relatives… He needed some time for himself. Everything that he saw somehow reminded him of Mary, but also of Sherlock. He blamed Sherlock for her death. Sherlocks big mouth, his ego were the reason that Mary died. He promised he would keep her save! He made an oath and he did not uphold it! Mary died right in front of him and he did nothing. John knows that he is just shifting the blame on Sherlock to make himself feel better, for deep down he know that Sherlock could have done nothing to prevent her death. It just happened. If someone were to blame then that would be John. He let Mary go along, he was not at her side when it happened, he could not save her.

John buried his face in his arms and let out a deep breath of air. He was tired but he knew that he could not sleep, the nightmares would just wake him up again. His mind slipped away and he did not realize that he started to think about Sherlock again. Today was the first time that he saw him like that. He knew that Sherlock was using again and that he was in a terrible shape even before John beat the crap out of him. But for Sherlock to be so wrong about something? No that could not be. No matter what Sherlock took he would never make a mistake in a case right?

He decided to go to the hospital and check how Sherlock was doing. He wanted to apologize anyway for beating him to nothing but a bloody pulp. The ride to the hospital felt very short. John was going throe his apology for the second time when they already arrived. He gave the driver the cash and made his way in to the building. He wanted to turn around and just go home but something told him to go to Sherlock. To see him and to make sure that he is ok. When he finally found the right floor he noticed a police man sitting in front of a room.

"Guess that’s his room,” John said to himself and started to walk towards the room. He nodded at the police man and grabbed the door knob. He pushed it and realized it was locked. “Excuse me, why is this door locked?” asked John the police man. The young man stood up and tried to open the door himself. When the door did not open he started to look for a nurse to unlock it. John was becoming a bit nerves and when he heard some weird noise coming from inside he deceit to break down the bloody door. He made a few steps back and then he ran in to the door. The police man tried to stop him at first but then decided to help him. They hit the door three more time before it finally gave in. John quickly ran in to the room just to see Sherlock lying motionless on his bed and all the machines on which he was hooked were shut down or put on mute. From the corner of his eyes John could see someone escaping through a hidden door by the side.

“Go after him, I will take care of Sherlock!” John yelled at the police man while he ran to Sherlocks’ side. He did not look to check if the man listened to him he just wanted to get to Sherlock.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?” he said and slapped him softly on the cheek. Sherlock did not move. John quickly checked his pulse and breathing. He couldn’t help but to freeze for a sec. He was a war doctor, he saw the most gruesome things that you could possibly imagine and he did not freeze up even once. But now that his friend, his best friend was in danger he couldn’t help but to feel scared. Sherlock had no pulse, he did not breath. John knew he needed to work fast but the fear paralyzed him.

“For Christ sake John get it together!” he said to himself and started doing CPR. He screamed for help and shortly a doctor and a few nurses came running in to the room and turning all the machines back on. They pulled John away and continued to revive Sherlock. John looked at the screen in terror, thinking that he will lose Sherlock as well. He leaned back against the wall and slowly slid down to the ground. He buried his face in his hand and started crying. Panic was overflowing his body, he could not breath. He felt so helpless, so weak.

“Don’t you dare die Sherlock … not again…not you… don’t die… Don’t die! DONT DIE YOU DICKISH BASTARD!!“ John was screaming now. His body was shaking like a stick on water. Some nurses were trying to get him out of the room, but John did not want to leave. Not until he would wake up, not till he would know that he won’t lose him too … Finally after what seemed like forever the machines started beeping, announcing a weak but steady heart beat. John let out a breath of relief, letting his body go numb. Two nurses helped him stand up and took him to a room nearby. He was still shaking when he was sat on a hospital bed.

“How is he? How are his vital signs?” John mumbles out before wanting to stand up. A nurse pushes him back on the bed and gives him a patronizing look.

“Mister Homes will be fine. His heart is beating again and he is able to breathe by himself. He is unconscious at the moment. He needs rest, and not an ex-doctor pocking around him.” Her words were harsh but they were telling the truth. In his current state he could not help Sherlock. He needed to calm down, collect his mind. He nodded at the sister and she left the room. John sat in the room for some time, thinking over what had just happened. Sherlock’s heat stopped. Was it because of all the drugs that he took? Or was it because of Johns beating? How the hell did it come to this? John couldn’t help but to think of what Sherlock said as the security people pulled him off of him.

“Let him…he is entitled to. I killed his wife” John remembered how Sherlock looked at him as he said that. He was a rack, but John could see the sadness in his eyes. The guild that he felt and the anger that was in him. He was angry at himself. And John was ok with it. He wanted Sherlock to suffer, he wanted him to feel the pain that he felt every day the past couple of months. But did Sherlock really deserve this?

John abandoned those thoughts and decided to search for the police officer that went after the man that was in the room with Sherlock. It didn’t take long for John to find him, he was standing right next to Sherlocks room door again.

“Did you manage to catch the man who was trying to run away?” The cop looked at him, unsure if he should tell him or not. In the end he just nodded and tilted his head towards the end of the corridor. Greg was already standing there and shouting at some poor young cop. John thanked him and marched towards Greg.

“What the bloody hell happened Greg? He was almost killed!” John could not contain the rage in his voice and truth be told he was surprised that he was angry. He thought that he didn’t care for Sherlock, not after he almost beat him to death.

“Hallo to you to John, no of cause I have time to talk to you no problem, not like I have to arrest one of the most influential people in the city!” John just looked at Greg kind of confused and then it hit him.

“Sherlock was right …” “Sherlock was fucking right!” said Greg and John at the same time and a cold wave of joy flushed over John. Greg rubbed his eyes and looked tired at John.

“That basted tired to kill Sherlock with an overdose, and since we all knew that Sherlock was using again it would not have been a surprise if he would have died. No one would have suspected that Sherlock was killed we would just call it an accident or suicide. He was lucky that you came in when you did, or Sherlock really would have died. We found little cameras in the room, supposable placed by Sherlock so we have proof of what that bastard did… he even kind of confessed to everything too. He is going away for a long time.”

  
“How did you find the cameras?”

  
“Mycroft called. He told us about it, since Sherlock still hasn’t woken up yet. I have to go, those idiots are doing something stupid again I can feel it. You should get some rest, you look tired.” Greg tapped John on the shoulder and started to walk towards the police men at the other end of the hall. John looked after him before he smiled to himself.

“He was right. Sherlock was right.” He started to walk back to Sherlocks room where he looked throe the (now broken) door. Sherlock was still lying motionless on the bed. John stepped in to the room and sat down next to Sherlocks bed.

“You crazy asshole. He could have killed you … You died … you died just like she did. What the bloody hell were you thinking?” John felt the tears streaming down his face again and this time he did not bother to hide his face in his palms. He grabbed Sherlocks hand and squeezed it tight. His hand was cold and so thin. John felt as if he could break it if he squeezed too tight.

“How the bloody hell did it come to this?” John whined silently and gently kissed Sherlocks hand. He stayed by Sherlocks side the whole night, waiting for Sherlock to wake up. But as the morning came, Sherlock still didn’t wake up, and John knew that something bad was coming.


	2. The Doctor who Learns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is still in the hospiral and unresponsive. Mycroft asks John for help and that's when John learns of Sherlocks' past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :3 So... I had to write another part since I left the lest one on a cliff hanger. I hope that you like it. If anyone has an idea what could be wrong with Sherlock or if you just wanna state your opinion on the chapter than please write a comment. I'm very interested in your opinin. But yea leave a kudo and let me know if you want more. Till next time, your KingOffHell :*

When John woke up his back was acing. He fell asleep on the edge of Sherlocks hospital bed last night and the nurses did not bother to wake him up. John slowly straighten himself up and looked around the room. The door was still missing so that was kind of weird. By the door frame he could still see a policeman standing outside the room. Mycroft probably insisted on police protection in case any of Sherlock enemies decided to use his weak state for an attack.  
The young detective was still looking fragile, pale skin with small drops of sweat on his forehead indicated that a fewer was running his body. His breath sounded heavy and John was about to check his pupils when suddenly his phone started ringing. Loud rock music started to echo throe the room and further throe the hallway outside. John franticly started to search for the blasted device, cursing under his breath for not putting it on mute the night before. When he finally found it he was already receiving an angry glare form the policeman outside the room and he was sure that a nurse would soon come storming in to lecture him.

John answered the phone with a tired voice. “Yes hallo?”

“Hello, Dr Watson? Yes, where are you? Your 8:05 is waiting here for good 20 min already and frankly I don’t know what to tell them anymore.”

“Ow shit … I forgot that I have patients today,” John slid his hand down his face and checked the time on his watch. 8:28 am … Damn it, he was so late! And it was so hard to get that job too.

“Dr Watson? What do I tell the patients?”

“Tell them I’m coming. I’ll be there in 15.” With that John hung up and started to look for his jacket. He quickly snacked it off the chair and headed to the door when suddenly he heard a weird noise. John turned around and saw that Sherlock body started to shake violently. John dropped his jacked and ran back to Sherlocks bed. He pressed the red button on the wall that notified the medical staff of the situation. But this time John did not intend to just watch. He lowered Sherlock bed and checked his pupils. They were constricted – so the morphine from the overdose last night was still in his system? John checked the detective’s airway and noticed that Sherlock was having trouble breathing. Something was seriously wrong. There was also a good chance that the detective would vomit, so John knew that he had to insert a tube to ensure that Sherlock could breathe normally. Finally, some nurses rushed into the room together with a young doctor.

“About bloody time! I suspect that the drug overdose from yesterday caused another seizure. His system is more susceptible to it because it is weakened by his long use of other drugs. We need to give him some intravenous fluids to dilute the drug. He needs to be intubated for there is a good chance that he will vomit. And somebody get me some naloxone!” John was in full doctor mode at that point. He starched his arm out to the nurse to receive an intubation tube but even after 3 seconds his hand was still empty. He looked up, annoyed and angry.

“Sir you need to steep away and let us help him. We are trained for this,” the young doctor said to him as he moved closer to push John away from Sherlock. God damn it they didn’t have time for this shit. John cursed angrily under his breath and leaned forward to grab the tube out of the drawer himself. Sherlock was still shaking and he needed to be intubated like right now. John tilted Sherlock head back and opened his mouth. He lowered himself a bit so that he would have a better view to Sherlock throat.

“Sir you need to step away or we will call security – “the young doctor started again but John was having none of it.  
  
“Listen up you little half ass of a doctor. I suspect you just came off medical school, and you probably never intubated a person in your life. Now this man need to be intubated because his he could suffocate on his own puke if I don’t put this tube in. Now this is hard enough to do by itself so if you keep on distracting me I swear I will break your bloody nose.” John was saying this as he was still trying to get the tube down Sherlock throat. The young doctor didn’t say anything … he just nodded at the nurses as to say to follow Johns lead. Everything moved very quickly after that. John could see that a nurse hung an extra IV on the stand next to Sherlock and another one administered the naloxone. Soon after that John managed to insert the tube and so he was able to pump oxygen in the detective. After a few seconds he ceased to shake and the machines stopped their frantic beeping.

John sat down in the chair next to Sherlock bed, letting the nurses take over for him. He was feeling exhausted as the adrenalin started to wear off. He looked up to the young doctor and he couldn’t help but to feel sorry for him. “I’m sorry. I lost my tempura back there –“

“I would appreciate it if you would not interfere like that in to my job. Yes, I’m young but I was trained for this. I worked hard for this. You do not have any authority here. If this happens again I will have you removed from here. Did I make myself clear?” Without even waiting for an answer the doctor turned on his heels and walked out the room.

John stared behind him with an expression of shock on his face. After a minute he smiled to himself and thought: “One hell of a doctor you are, you didn’t ween check on your patient until he went in to shock.”

After some time, John pulled his phone out of his pocked and dilled a number. “Hello Jenny? Yes, I won’t be able to come in today …”

  
ONE WEEK LATER  
“We need to talk. MH”  
“What do you want Mycroft? J.W.”  
“Meet me at the café in the hospital in an hour. I'll explain everything there. MH”  
“No, tell me now or I will not come. J.W.”  
“It’s about Sherlock. MH”  
“I’ll be there. J.W.”  


The café was really small and modest compared to the whole hospital. It looked old and one could see that no one really invested any real money in to it. The whole room stunk after smoke and the tea was not good at all. Seriously how could one fuck up a cup of tea? It’s just water and a tea bag, it’s not rocket science. John kept on drinking his poor excuse of a tea and waited for Mycroft to show up. He was supposed to be here 15 min ago. Finally, he showed up with a briefcase in one and an umbrella in his other hand. Was there a time that this man would not drag his umbrella along? The sun was shining outside, there was not even one cloud on the sky, yet he still had his black umbrella. John was almost sure that the man was even showering with it.

“I do apologize for the late arrival… some emergent business had to be dealt with” he said as he sat down opposite John. He nodded at the waitress and a minute later she brought him a cup of coffee.

“You a regular here?” John asked as he nodded at the cup of coffee.

“One could say so,” Mycroft answered with kind of a sad smile on his face. Now that John looked at Mycroft he could see how worn out he looked. He was pale and had multiple bags under his eyes. He was slightly shaking and John could have sworn that the man lost some weight.  
  
“Mycroft are you alright?” John was really concerned for the older Holmes brother. The whole situation with Sherlock must have really left its mark on him. John often forgot that the hatred of the brothers was only one-sided. Mycroft loved his brother, but he always tried to hide that fact – why John did not know. He never really thought about it up till now.

"We are not here to talk about me Dr Watson. We are here to talk about Sherlock. As you know he is still not well. The morphine administered to him by that foul bastard of a doctor pushed his weakened body over the edge. His liver, kidneys and heart are in terrible condition, yet that is not what concerns me.“ Mycroft put his briefcase on the table and opened it.

“Has he still not woken up?” John hadn’t been in the hospital for about a week. He had to catch up on his work.

“He woke up for a few minutes, but as soon as he awoke he started to scream for morphine, so they sedated him again.” Mycroft shook his head but continued: “How much do you know of his drug use of the pass few months? Nothing, I’m I right?” John just nodded and he couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed. He knew that Sherlock would start using again if he didn’t check up on him after Marys' death but he couldn’t find it in his heart to care for Sherlock. Hell even now he could feel a small stab in his heart when he thought about Sherlock for his mind turned to Mary right after that.  
  
“Well he started of light - 3 boxes of cigarettes for about a week than he started with weed. The guilt that he felt for not being able to save Mary drew him to heroine. We tried to help him - I, Mrs Hutson, Molly and Grag – but it was of no use. Once he started there was no way we could get him to stop. But then after 2 and a half months he started to use cocaine and morphine. Now you know that cocaine is nothing new for him, but never in his 36 years has he used morphine. He always said that it made him sleepy and that it massed with his brain so he never touched it. At first I thought that he was just trying out new things. That your absence left a hole in him that he tried to fill, but the amount and frequency with which he used it became dangerously high.”

“Ok Mycroft before I let you go on tell me – why are you telling me all this? What does his drug use and all of it to do with me? I haven’t seen him in about week. And before I beat him to nothing but a bloody pulp I didn’t even talk to him.“

Mycroft let out a tired breath and handed John a thick brown file. John looked at it and pulled it closer to himself.

“It has everything to do with you. It’s not like my brother and I are not capable of displaying or feeling emotions. It’s just that we choose not to show them because it’s to dangerous. We go up against psychopaths every day and having an emotional connection to someone makes you weak, it makes you distracted. So we absented ourselves from everything and everyone. Or at least I did, Sherlock was tempted more often. When you came you became his weak point. I told him that that would not end well, not for him nor for you, and sadly I was right. When Mary died it broke you. But it destroyed Sherlock – you John were his downfall.”

“You know this is quite funny. Everything is always MY BLOODY FAULT! Sherlock was the one who got Mary killed! He just had to drive the old lady up the wall, he had to show off how smart he was and Mary paid the prize for it!”

“Don’t you think he paid his prize double? He lost Mary one of the rare women he respected, even considered a friend I dare say. But most of all he lost you. Not only that he knew that he let you down! You were his best friend, his first and only friend for a long time. He wanted to protect you, to protect everything you love. Can you really not understend how he felt when he could not hold up his promie?” Mycroft was desperate. His voice was shaky, yet his words felt like knifes to John.

“You know what, I’m not going to listen to this. I knew it was a mistake to come today. Good bye, Mycroft. Please, lose my number.” John was already standing up form the table when Mycroft grabbed him by the arm.

“Let go of me or God help me I will break your arm.”

“I do apologize. It was not my intention to talk to you about that. Please excuse my outbreak. Please sit back down. I'm begging you, stay.”

“Fuck you” John tried to pull his arm away but Mycroft did not let go. He looked the older Holmes brother in the eye and he almost felt sorry for him. His eyes were glassy because of the lack of sleep and even thought the grip on Johns wrist was strong he could feel how Mycrofts hand was shaking.

“Please John. Just give me 3 more minutes. And if you don’t like what I say you can go and I will not bother you again. But please sit back down.” John stared again at the tiered man.

“You have 2 minutes” Said John as he sat back down.

“Thank you ... The file that you have before you everything I have on Sherlock drug use. Everything that I know he ever took is written in here. The time from which we suspect he started to take it, up to how much of what he used when he overdosed.”

John was about to open the file when Mycroft put his hand on it. “Dr Watson you have to know that this file has also his whole previous medical history written in it. There are many things in it that Sherlock does not want you to know. Things that he forbid me to ever tell you, but at this point I don’t know who else to trust.”

“Mycroft what the hell is going on? I don’t understand a thing that you are saying. Why are you showing me this if Sherlock doesn’t want me to know about it?”  
  
“Like I told you before, Sherlock started using morphine. As I said at first I thought nothing of it but now I think that that was one of the first symptoms of his condition. At the beginning I told you that the condition of his organs did not concern me that much. Well the reason for that is that tests have shown that the organs will recover to some degree so there is no real reason to worry. What does scare me is the fact that they found blood in his urine.” Mycroft looked at John with great worry as he said this. It was something that John had never seen on Mycroft before and it feet somehow scary to do.

“Well if his kidneys are in such a bad shape like you said they are then that shouldn’t come as a surprise.”

“That is true …That’s what they thought too. On my insistence they send him on an MRI but nothing was found. So they simply gave him some antibiotics and waited. It’s been 4 days since then and there is still blood in his urine. The urine bag is now completely red with blood each and every time. Each and every time he wakes up he starts screaming. I tried to talk to him, but he doesn’t even listen. He just screams for morphine. Dr Watson I have helped my brother throe countless rehabs, I have seen him at his worst but this is something new, and it hurts me to see him being sedated each and every time. It hurts me to see him in such pain. The doctors have checked everything, but they found nothing. They have no idea what’s wrong with him. I tried to get the best doctors in Britan on his case but after his very public meltdown no one wants to have anything to do with him. So I’m turning to you. Please take his case. This is everything I have on his health. Read it today and figure out what is wrong with him. I beg you, save Sherlock Holmes. Save my baby brother.”

Mycroft was shaking and John could see tears form in the corners of Mycroft’s eyes. This man never shed a tear or displayed any kind of emotion, yet now he was like a child trying to save a little puppy. John stood up from the table and Mycroft almost cried out in desperation.

“I will give you a ring if I think of something” Said John and picked up the file from the table. Mycroft let out a deep breath and his body relaxed visibly. A faint smile shot on his face.

“Thank you Doctor. I appreciate it.”

John gave him a smile and walked out of the café. He called a taxi and went home. As soon as he came home he opened the file and started reading. His eyes got immediately caught by the title of the first page. He read it multiple times… not believing it really being written there. The title was “SUICIDE ATTEMPTS”

“Age: 4 Suicide attempt no.1 – Sherlock cut his wrists with fathers’ razor. Mother found him in the bathtub. Ambulance was called. Released from hospital: after 2 weeks.  
Age: 6 Suicide attempt no. 2 &3 –Took mothers sleeping pills. One week later jumped out the window in the second floor. I found him both times. Ambulance was called both times. They think it was an accident. I know it wasn’t - Letter found. Content: “Solution to problem found” “

And like that it went on and on and on. All together he tried to kill himself 34 times. Sometimes multiple times in the same year. John looked at the bottom of the list to see the last suicide attempt.

“Age: 36 Suicide attempt no.34: He hung himself. Was saved by a spy that I had him watched. Heart stopped – was able to revive after 2 minutes. Ambulance was not called. Was taken to my house. Stayed 3 days – managed to run away. Letter found. Content of it: “ ~~Me too~~ Mycroft - let me die, please.”. Backside seemed to be written by John. Content: “I wish it was you who died that day and not Mary”. Possibility of another attempt: High”  
This was one week after Mary’s funeral. The day Moly gave Sherlock the letter from John. The letter… that’s right …

John closed the file. A tear slipped down his cheek and a broken whine escaped his lips.

He always thought that Sherlock was the one who abandoned and betrayed John.

Yet he was the one who put the rope in Sherlocks hand.


	3. The Doctor who Cheats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long afternoon of research John figures out why Sherlocks in so much pain. His condition is serious and demands immediate surgery. But what to do when Sherlock does not agree with the plan of treatment? Will John be able to convince the Detective or will he have to cheat in the game for Sherlock life?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Thank you all for your love and support! This chapter is a bit longer, so about sorry. I hope you like it and if you do leave a kudo. Write a comment so i know what you think of it or how you would like to improve my writing.  
> Until next time :*

It was 2 P.M. the next time John looked up on the clock. He just spent the last two hours sitting is his chair, crying his eyes out over a man that he thought he hated. 

The file on Sherlock was sitting on the little coffee table next to him. He knew that he had to read it, he promised Mycroft but he was afraid to do so. He was afraid of what else he would find out about Sherlock. John saw the Detective as a cold and calculated machine for so long now, it was freighting to learn that man was still nothing more but human with a lot of psychological problems. John always thought that he was the mentally weak one. Sherlock was always so strong, or at least he seemed to be.

Now John knows that Sherlock was just putting up a strong front as to not get hurt by others or be seen as weak. Or did he maybe do it to comfort John? His mind was running wild, he wanted to go and scream at Sherlock for not telling him how he felt, for not reaching out. But then again even if he did John was to focus on himself at that time to even notice the seriousness of the situation.

His trail of thoughts was broken shortly afterwards by the beeping sound of his phone. His eyes wander lazily to the screen. It was a text … Mycroft probably. Surly he wanted to know how his “research” was doing. He disregarded it and turned his look back to the file.

God damn it, John had to get himself back to reading the damn file. He owed it to Sherlock! On the other hand, he just needed to read the pages that had the information about the last few years of his life.

John picked the file back up and skipped the first 60 pages. When John looked over it he realized that he found the page that was written right after he came bake to London (after his “resurrection”).

“Sherlock wants to go to John, but his wounds have not healed yet. Stills suffers from injuries sustained in Siberia. Shows signs of PTSD. Expected recovery time: 4-5 weeks.”

Wounds? Sherlock sustained wound while he was away in those two years? Again something that John had never asked about. John was tempted to go back a few pages to check the story behind it but he knew he had no time and also it was something Sherlock should tell him himself. So John kept reading, made notes, underlined things he found wired or important.

Now it was 8 pm and John had the paper sheds of the file spread across the floor. There were many notes stuck to the paper and John could feel that he was missing something. He ran over his notes again and that’s when he noticed something odd. In every entry since last year there was a reappearing problem with his right arm. At first it was merely a note that Mycroft wrote to himself, but then the symptoms became more and more clear.

Now that John thought about it he himself noticed that sometimes Sherlock would be very careful about his right arm. Sometime when he thought no one was watching he would squeeze his lower arm as if he was in terrible pain. Now if that was true than maybe that’s the reason why he started to use morphine, for it would dull the pain. That’s when John remember something else. He started to panicky search thru the pile of papers until he finally found the MRI pictures. He looked at them closely and then he noticed it. A small little dote in Sherlock right arm. It was so small you could barely see it but it was there and it was the reason for Sherlocks pain.

John stood up and grabbed his phone of the table. Without turning his eyes away from the MRI pictures he dialed Mycroft’s number. It rung barely once before the older Holmes brother picked it up.

“Dr Watson about time, I was writing you the whole day. What-“

“You need to call the hospital! There is a blood clot in Sherlock’s right arm and its slowly cutting off the blood supply to the limb there by killing off healthy tissue cells. The dead cells than travel with the little blood flow that still goes thru the limb to the main blood flow of the body, poisoning it in the process. They need to order a blood test to see the number of dead cells in the blood and an additional MRI to better determine the position of the clot, but they need to do it fast or Sherlock might die.” As John was explaining the situation he was already grabbing his stuff and walking out the front door. He needed to go to the hospital, make sure that those good for nothing doctors would get it right this time.

On the phone was silence for a few second before Mycroft spoke again.

“I understand. It will be done right away.” Were the only words John heard before the phone went silent again. John tugged his phone in to his pocket and waved at the first taxi that he saw. Even though the streets were clear (because it was quite late already) and the taxi driver was driving like a maniac, they still needed about 40 min to the hospital what felt more like 40 days to John. Each and every second mattered at this point.

Finally, they arrived. John threw 40 bugs at the driver and was already running in to the hospital before he would get his change. At the end of the corridor he could see Mycroft talk to a doctor. John slowed down his pace and decided to wait till the doctor left to talk to Mycroft.  He observed them quietly and he could tell that the news was bad. There were not many times that the older Holmes brother would quietly listen to someone and not even try to interrupt them. Mycroft was looking at the doctor almost in disbelieve of what he was saying. His mouth was slightly open, his arms crossed over his chest, head slightly tilted to the ground. A typical defensive stance. This really wasn’t good. 

After about more 5 minutes the doctor gave a final nod to the Holmes brother and left. John watched as the now small looking man was left standing there like a deer in front of headlights. John slowly walked towards him and put his arm on his shoulder. “Mycroft … how is he?” was all that John could get out at that point.

Mycroft was still staring in front of himself seemingly in to nothing. Then he slowly closed his eyes and lowered his head. “You were right. It was a blood clot inside his brachial artery. It was too small to detect it last week. They suspect he had it for a longer time but that small parts chipped off every now and then there by never totally closing off the artery. But now something changed and the clot just kept on growing. Now the blood flow thru it is just 40%, just enough that the limb didn’t turn black. The muscles of the arm are all damaged. They -…” Mycroft voice cracked suddenly and John could swear he saw tears form at the corners of the Brothers eyes. After a few deep breaths he slid his hand over his face, wiping away his tears. He lifted his head back up, no sight of the tears left and said with a shaky voice: “They want to cut off his arm.”

“What? No that's stupid! They can just use blood thinners and wait for the cloth to dissolve,” John almost yelled this out, looking at Mycroft as if he just said the stupidest thing ever.

“According to them that would almost most certainly kill him. As much as I undersood the clot is like a wall right now. It keeps all the dead cells of the arm out of the main body flow. If that “wall” is to be destroyed –“

“Then all the cells would go thru his whole body there by poisoning and later on killing him. And we can’t put him on strong antibiotics because of his weak heard and kidneys,” realized John as he was listening to Mycrofts stuttering explanation. Johns mind was running full speed trying to come up with another plan but he could not think of anything.

“They can’t do it. Not without Sherlocks consent.” Said John after a second.

“They plan on waking him up in 10 minutes, and hope that he will be enough in his right mind that they will be able to explain him what is going on and get his consent for the procedure.” Mycroft let out a tied breath and stepped to the chair next to the wall. He let his tired body fall in to the small chair not entirely sure that he will have the energy to stand up again later.

“They play with their luck. What if he –“before John could finish his sentence a gruesome scream came from down the corridor. John didn’t even think before he started to run towards the source of the scream. Or better said scream **s**. It was unbearable. You could hear the pain and desperation in the screams. When he finally came to the room he was how two male nurses were trying to hold Sherlock frantic body down and a doctor was screaming at him to calm down. God damn it, were they really that fucking stupid? Why not strap him to the bed and pump acid into his veins?

“Get the hell away from him! All of you, away!” John was pulling the nurses away when the doctor stepped infront of him. It was the same one from last week, the young, smug doctor who thought he ate knowledge with a fucking spoon. Ugh, fuck it. John was about to punch the young doc in the face when Mycrofts voice cut throe Sherlocks screams. “Let him! Let Dr Watson do his job!” That was all John needed to hear. He looked at the doctor and send him a small victory smirk before he stepped to the screaming Detective. He could see how the Detective was twisting and turning his body, trying to somehow lessen the pain. His jaw was tightly pressed together (when he was not screaming) making his already sharp jaw line stand out even more. Small drops of sweat were forming on his forehead and upper lip and his skin was so pale he looked white as a sheet. 

“Sherlock! Sherlock listen to me. You’re in a hospital. Sherlock” It was no use. The detective did not see him. No for real that is. He needed to get the Detectives attention. He grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him slightly. “Sherlock! Listen to me, listen to my voice. Concentrate on my voice, forget the pain. Focus on me!” Sherlocks eyes shoot to Johns face and his screams broke for a brief second. “John, it hurt …” Sherlock was lifting his left arm up trying to grab Johns shoulder. He wanted to convince himself that that was not a hallucination. That his John was really here and not just in his head.

“I know Sherlock, I know your arm hurts. A blood clot formed in your main arm artery, there by cutting off the blood supply to your arm. We need to remove the clot but if we do that all the poison that has formed in your arm will spread throe your body and probably kill you. Do you understand me this far?” John was looking directly in to Sherlocks eyes. His eyes were still a bit blurry from the long sleeping period, but he could also see pain and confusion in them. 

“Yes…ugh… I understand. What do we do then if we can’t just get rid of the clot? Antibiotics?” Sherlocks voice was shaking, you could tell he was trying his best not to scream out in pain again. John knew how much such a condition hurt. He'd seen it once before. It was on a middle aged man, but he had the clot in his leg. He was screaming like crazy just like Sherlock now. The man was an army veteran who lived thru a lot of pain in his life but that was a new class of pain even for him. It was recommended that his leg would be amputated but he refused. Later he agreed to a partial amputation. But that just left him with a half function leg and pain for a life time.          

“Sherlock, we need to cut your arm off. It’s the only way to-“

“No … no way! You are not cutting off my arm!” Sherlock looked at John in panic, not believing what his friend just said.

“There is no other way Sherlock. We have to or the dead cells from your arm will poison you!” John knew that Sherlock would not take kindly to the idea but he had to convince his former college that that was his best shoot.

“No, I won’t let you do that! Ahhh god damn it it hurts. Give me something! Give me some morphine!” Sherlock twisted his body again, making John let go of his shoulders.

“You don’t have a choice Sherlock! It’s either that or death, and frankly I do not wish to bury my brother!” Now it was Mycroft who was screaming. John had totally forgotten that he was here too. Sherlock look shoot to his brother, this time filled with contempt. Jup jup even in massive pain he still had enough strength to shoot a painful glare at him. 

“You don’t get a say in this!”

“Ow hell yes I do! You might not like it but I am your brother. I just want what’s best for you, and if that means I have to strap you down and cut off your arm myself to save you then bloody hell I will!”

“Well good for me that you can’t really do that. AAaaa… where is my fucking morphine!?” OK time for John to interfere before the situation gets out of hand.

“Sherlock listen to me. There is no other way. We have to do this.” John tried to touch Sherlocks shoulder again but the Detective shrug away this time.

“I said no. We can … ugh … what about if we dissolve the clot over a longer time period? That way the dead cells are slowly released in to my body giving my immune system enough time to defend me?” He twisted his body again as the pain grew stronger and stronger. John was staring at the detective slightly impressed that he managed to come up with that.

“Would that work Dr Watson?” Mycroft’s voice sounded hopeful. I painted John to have to be the barer of bad news.

“It could. But the chance of success is very very slim. His body is too weak for this. His heart would give in after a day.” The older brothers face darkened again over the bad news. Couldn’t something good happen just once?

“But there is a chance. I take it. You are not cutting off my arm” said the young Holmes again.

“You bloody moron. Listen to me for once! Look at you! Your pale as a sheet, your sweeting, your blood pressure is over the roof and your heard rate is also elevated so much that one would think you just ran a marathon! You won't last even one day awake.” John was getting pissed now. There was nothing that he hated more than a patient who thought that he knew better than his doctor.  

“Then put me in to an artificial coma! That way my body can regenerate itself.” Sherlock was breathing fest and deep now. They needed to wrap this conversation up fast or it would not end well for the Detective.

“I still think you should –“

“I said no! No cutting of my arm! Put me into an artificial coma and dissolve the clot part by part.” Sherlock was shaking with rage now. The pain had made him less patient.

John looked at Mycroft in the hope that he would back him up, but the older Holmes brother just lowerd his head in sign of defeat. John closed his eyes and thought the while situation thru. “Ok, we will do it the way you want it. I will let the staff know.” John stepped out of the room without taking a second look at Sherlock. He was slightly afraid that if he would Sherlock would figure out that he come up with another way to save him.

This may have slipped by Sherlocks blurred receptors but not passed Mycroft. After a minute of short conversation with Sherlock he followed John to the doctor’s office. When he arrived John had just finished talking to the doctor. “What is your plan of action John? I know you have something up your sleeve” Said Mycroft some hope returning to his voice.

“I remembered a legal loop hole in this whole thing. We can not force Sherlock to do something even if it is in his own medical interest. But if he is unconscious his guardian or whoever he has given the authority over his health decides what to do. So if Sherlock is in a medically induced come  -“

“We get to decide what procedure to do or not.” Finished Mycroft instead of John.

“I just talked to the doctor, and he agrees that the slow decay of the clot is a stupid idea with a way to big risk factor. He just went and put Sherlock in a coma. We can start the amputation in an hour if you just sign this paper.” Said John and handed Mycroft a document.

Mycroft looked at it and opened his mouth as if to object but then he closed it again. “I know it’s not what he wants but he is too weak to survive this. We need to amputate, the sooner the better. I take full responsibility, but please Mycroft sign it. It’s the only way.” John fixed his look on the Homes brother hoping that he would see reason. Mycroft was destroyed, he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to call his mommy and ask her what to do. He didn’t want this burden on himself. But he knew that John was right. Sherlock was fading away fest so they needed to act. Even if that meant that Sherlock would despise him even more. No he wouldn’t just despise him. Sherlock would hate him for that. But he could live with that if that meant that his baby brother would stay alive.

“Ok. Yes do it” Said Mycroft with a broken, silent voice.

“Just sign here and they can start.” Said John again and handed him a pen that he pulled out of his pocked.

“No, I can’t -”  

“God Mycroft, I thought we went over this. We have to-“John tried again but Mycroft cut him off.

“No I can’t because I’m not the authorized person. Sherlock didn’t put me down as the person of contact he put you down. It was probably to taunt me. But that doesn’t matter… you have to sign it.”

John fell silent at that. Suddenly he felt a heavy weight on his shoulders. At the very same moment the doctor came back and reported that Sherlock was now put into the induced coma.

"Did you sign? Are we ready?” Asked the doctor again and looked first at John and then at Mycroft. John was frozen for a second, his brain had stopped to function and Mycroft could have sworn that John had stopped to breath for a full minute. Suddenly something in John snapped. He took the paper out of Mycroft hand and sign it. He handed the signed paper to the doctor and gave him a serious look.

“Are you sure about this?” Asked Mycroft and the doctor almost at the same time. John looked down at the floor for a brief second before he confidently looked back up again.

“Perform the amputation.” And with that the conversation was over.   


	4. The Doctor Who Tries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is finally in the OR and Mycroft is starting to feel the consequences of the past few weeks. All the pressure, all the stress is taking over until he finally breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! It's me again. Sorry to take so long to write but school is crazy. I will put the next chapter up soon for it is almost done. I really wanted to dedicate this chapter to Mycroft for I think that he is a very underrated and misunderstood character. Anyway I hope you like it! Leave a kudo and I would love to hear your thoughts about Mycroft and this chapter so pls leave a comment. Till next time, stay awesome :P

It was a little bit past midnight when they finally rolled Sherlock in to the operation room. They needed to perform a ray of test to determine where to cut Sherlocks arm off and still maintain as much healthy tissue as possible. John was pacing up and down the waiting room after they finally managed to throw him out of the doctors room. At first he wanted to object but after seeing the look on Mycrofts face he decided against it. Mycroft was looking pale and faint. It was really hitting him hard that he had to go behind Sherlocks back to save him. The older Holmes brother was now sitting in a small waiting chair with his phone in his hand. He was deciding if he should call his parents and tell them what was going on or not. He didn’t want to upset mommy but at the same time she had the right to know. He promised her that he would call them if anything were to change in Sherlock’s condition. Mom wanted to be next to him if things went bad, wanted to say good bye if needed. She didn’t want to let him die alone as the other one did. But now that it really comes to it, it is way harder then he thought.  

He tapped on the phone screen and looked at the hour. “Twenty past midnight … mommy is probably asleep. But I promised her …I swore… god damn it!” He whispered to himself. He nervously tapped his leg on the floor, cleared his throat and then tipped in mommies’ phone number. He slowly pulled the phone to his ear. The ringing was echoing in his head and he could swear that it was ringing for more than an hour. Suddenly the ringing was interrupted and Mycroft recognized the sweet sound of his mother.

"Mom?"

“Mike, darling? Is everything alright? Why are you calling at such an ungodly hour? Are you alright?” Her voice was a little bit husky and he could hear the TV playing in the background. She probably fell asleep watching the old gameshow that she loves so much. Now he could hear father calling her and asking who is calling. He sounds worried, as if he already knew that something was wrong.  

“Hello mother. I’m good, I’m good. Listen … Sherlock is not doing so well. He … he …” his voice broke and for a second he was sure he forgot how to breath.

“Mycroft? Honey, what is it? Is Sherlock ok?” there was panic in her voice now. Mycroft could see her starting to shake and father stepping closer to her, trying to somehow calm her.

“Mommy Sherlock was taken to the operation room. They found … They found something in his arm that was poisoning him. He .. –they have to…” he was running out of words. For the first time in his life he did not know how to say something. He felt helpless. How do you tell a mother that her child is being operated on, that he may not pull thru and even if he does he will be crippled for the rest of his life? How do you tell her that thru a phone?

Suddenly a hand touched his shoulder and John was kneeling down next to him. Mycroft didn’t even notice when the man had stopped pacing up and down the room. Now John was completely calm and focused. The kind doctor extended his hand towards Mycroft in a sign to pass him the phone. The Holmes brother looked at him, gave him a little nod and handed him over the phone. John stood up and went out of the waiting room in to the hallway to talk to the parents. Mike could still hear the doctor talk but he was too tied to pay close attention to the muffed words. He felt as if a heavy burden was lifted off his shoulders, like he could breathe a little easier. But soon another feeling flushed over him, one that he did not feel in a long long time. His vison began to blur and he could swear that something wet slid down his cheek. A soft cry spread thru the room and Mycroft thought that it came from the hallway. Was this his mother crying thru the phone? Could he hear it earlier too? But the crying just grew louder and louder and soon he realized it was his own muffed, broken cry. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and he was shaking. The pressure of the past months, the worry for his brother, his duty to the country – everything came back up and burred him under its weight. He felt as if he could not breath, as if the air had turned to water.

He was drowning and there was no one to help him. Sherlock is going to die and it will be all his fault for not protecting him better. For not protecting him like he should have! He should have never let him out of his house that night, he should have taken better care of him when he was in rehab, he should have never left him take on this blood case! Mistakes, so many god damn mistakes he has made. And he always thought himself so bloody clever and yet he couldn’t even protect his little brother. Not when he was 5 and tried to kill himself and not now when a psyho tried to kill him in a fucking hospital.

His sobbing was uncontrollable, his shaking unbearable. He tried to pull himself together, be the strong, emotionless Holmes brother he is known to be, but he simply could not put the mask back on. He was broken, scared and exposed like he has never been before. “Unknown situation – danger” was the only thing his brain was able to compose, but he could not do anything about it.

He could hear the door opening, and in his panic he tried to muffle his sobs and wipe away his tears. John stepped in to the room with this look still fixed on the phone in his hand. “They are on their way here. I told them that they can stay at my house if they have nowhere else to go. I tried to reassure them that he will pull thru, to calm them but truth be told the situation is far from ideal. Did you get any update on Sherlock? Did a nurse …” He cut his monologue short as his eyes lied a look on Mycroft. Johns face softened and his arms fall to his side. His look was fixed on the Holmes brother who held his head low in a desperate attempted to hide his red eyes and running nose. John moved his weight from one leg to the other in his nerves manner as he did not know how to react. Is he supposed to hug Mycroft or just tell him that everything will be alright? No he can't do that, Mycroft is all too aware how serious this situation is. Another hand on the shoulder to show him that he is there for him, but at the same time not intrude? But before he could make up his mind about it Mycroft found his voice again.

“There will be no need for my parents to stay with you, I will have them settled in a nearby hotel, thank you Doctor.” He extended his hand towards John without raising his head in a request to get his phone back. As John was passing him the device he tried to come up with something smart to say but his mind was just blank. “What about Sherlock?” John wanted to punch himself in the face for not coming up with something better to say than that.

Mycroft slid a hand down his face and cleared his throat again. “No news.” Was the brief statement he gave before he fell silent again.

“Listen Mycroft if you need to talk –“

“Could you go and talk to a nurse, please? You are a doctor they will tell you more than me. You know where to press to get the answer you want.” Said the broken Holmes brother fast, feeling another wave of tears burning in his eyes.

“Yes of course, no problem. Emm, I will be right back.” Said John and made a straight line for the door. As he was reaching for the door handle he turned around and looked at Mycroft again.

“Listen Mycroft, I know we are not close or anything, but if I can somehow help you –“

“Please go now!” Mycrofts voice was shaking this time and it was full with raw emotions. He really tried to hold it in but it was getting harder and harder and he really didn’t wanna lose it in front of John.              

John nodded in defeat and silently left the room, leaving Mycroft with nothing but his feeling of defeat.


End file.
